


Bored To Death

by littleblackneko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackneko/pseuds/littleblackneko
Summary: Sherlock Holmes stumbles across a case file that acts as a stark reminder of a traumatic part of his past, which leaves him stumbling in a seedy bar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Story inspired by the song "Bored to Death" by Blink-182. Hope you enjoy!

There was a reason Sherlock didn't think about his teen years. He especially didn't think about June 23rd through November 18th of his seventeenth year of life. Those memories had been securely locked away for ages and he had been content to never remember those days again,  but he found out that sometimes, you truly do not have a choice when it comes to suffering. He shivered as he walked down the London streets, pulling his coat tighter around him. 

Sherlock had been content enough. The Yard had been sending interesting enough cases, his brother hadn't been  _ that _ annoying of a twat lately, and he was living with the indescribable John Watson, someone who let him feel after so long. His life had been a dream the past few months, but all that changed in a few brief moments.

A police report had caught his eye when visiting the Yard. It was ironic, a nightmare of a night emerging from a place that was so steadily a part of his day to day thrill. A man who had been put away for aggravated assault's photo stared back at him from a case file, and he couldn't help but recognize the familiar eyes staring back at him. It was an echo from the past; his ex- boyfriend  Vincent Smith. 

_ It was a normal enough name for a seemingly normal enough boy. He had was tall, taller than Sherlock, and well built underneath his suit, that much was obvious. Sherlock wanted to figure him out, but he couldn't quite place why. He knew that the young man had two divorced and remarried parents, three older brothers, and a desire to hold everyone's attention. He wasn't particularly intelligent but he held the room's attention and had a broad laugh and an air of power that intrigued Sherlock.  And those eyes...there was something mysterious, almost devious, about those whisper-grey eyes. He had been standing by the punch bowl, chatting with what Sherlock had deduced were some mates from school, when Sherlock approached.  _

_ Sherlock wasn't nearly so boisterous in his teen years, and he shuffled quietly over to where Vincent, his name as he'd overheard, stood. His friends all found reasons to wander off and soon it was just the two them standing side by side, Sherlock too intimidated to meet those eyes. He wasn't afraid per se, just...the feeling was indescribable. Sherlock shocked himself in realizing it was something as foolish as a crush. He supposed, as messy as it was, that romantic entanglement was bound to leap upon him at some point. With some American boy named Vincent.  _

Sherlock shuddered out a sigh, tracing his fingers along his forearms, trembling. This was  _ foolish _ ! His relationship with Vincent had been years ago, the impact should be dampened. The wound didn't bear fresh blood. But still, that hadn't stopped him from disappearing to the seediest part of town. The flashbacks were hitting hard and heavy and there was no way he was returning from that headspace tonight. 

The lights hurt his eyes, so he looked for the darkest area he could find. Sherlock ducked into a dim bar, ambled over to the counter, and ordered a shot of whiskey.He sucked it down quickly, hoping for something to numb his racing thoughts. He needed something, a way to crawl back from when he was a powerless seventeen year old at the hands of a cruel young man. Something to save him as he shook and gasped for breath. This would likely have been called a panic attack by the good doctor, but he didn't have time to remember all the petty frivolities he had become accustomed to like good, caring John. Only the repressed memories, only the nightmares. Only Vincent. 

_ They had been dating for a month when Vincent punched him for the first time. Sherlock hadn't been expecting it. He had tried so hard to be polite to Vincent, to keep him liking him. He had thought their relationship was going swimmingly. They stole kisses in the dark walks home, Vincent ruffling his dark curls afterward. He didn't lose contact with friends, since he hadn't had any in the first place. And with Vincent, it had seemed he didn't need to. His family was already enthralled at his little friend, that he found someone who could tolerate him. They hadn't phrased it quite like that, but he knew what they meant.  He had heard it quite literally a hundred times that "People don't like their secrets shared, Sherlock. Don't be so rude, Sherlock. Just be bored, Sherlock." So he did all that for Vincent, he repressed every urge to correct him, to discuss serious matters he had deduced about the boy's life, to make some snarky comment, to say that he was literally bored to death. He had repressed himself to please him. Until one day he forgot. Until he made some offhand comment. Vincent was upset. His mother was having another baby, and he wasn't okay with it. And Sherlock slipped and made a comment. And Vincent turned, eyes gone cold.  _

_ "What did you say to me Sherlock?" _

_ "Only that you'll still be just as spoiled when your sister comes. So you neednt worry about that."  _

_ "That's what I thought you said."  _

_ Vincent stalked towards where Sherlock was sitting on Vince's bed. He used one hand to shove Sherlock back into the wall hard enough to bruise and let the other turn and wallop into Sherlock's stomach.  _

_ "You don't speak to me like that, you don't analyze my life you little freak!" Another fist collided with his stomach and Sherlock sucked in breath desperately. "Do you understand!?" _

_ Sherlock nodded vigorously, in a state of shock.  _

_ "You know I don't want to do that, I just am trying to take care of you, you understand?" _

_ For once in his life, Sherlock didn't understand at all, but he nodded again anyway. Vincent just wanted what was best, after all.  _

He threw back another two shots, but it was doing nothing to numb the pain. To think...he wasn't the only one that man had hurt. He had only just now gotten caught after over a decade of time. VIncent Smith. The name plagued him. He was starting to feel tipsy, but it wasn't enough,  _ not enough _ . He wanted the world to stop spinning. How had one picture set him off so badly. He was used to repression, with a carefully organized mind and how he only would remember what he  _ wanted  _ to remember. Not this uncontrollable, unquenchable remembering. 

He drank another 

and another

and another. 

But it wouldn't leave, damnit, it wouldn't leave. Maybe he needed something stronger. A seven-percent solution perhaps. 

_ It didn't stop with once. It happened over and over and over. Sherlock had to deny his family's invitations to swim, and he had to ensure that he never denied an invitation of Vincent's. He didn't know much about relationships. Was this just how it... was? But it seemed that whether he tried to submit or not, Vincent would regardless grow more irate and more fists-flying. And he heard the insults now not just from his classmates, but from his boyfriend as well. And Vincent's were more personal, more digging and biting. He was like a big cat stalking his prey. And Sherlock saw that Vincent's life wasn't perfect, that there was a lot that went wrong where he deserved better. Maybe that's what being there for him was, was the pain. Perhaps that was how it was supposed to be. Whispers of grey eyes and love to screams of pain.  _

_ He never asked anyone. He never told anyone. Who would care what happened to the freak anyway?  _

Eventually Vincent had grown tired of him, and when he went to Uni down south, they didn't keep in touch. Sherlock later grew older, and watched others enter into relationship, had realized how toxic his own was. He'd seen his brother and the DI fall in love and tried to remember if Vincent had ever looked at him like that, or if he just wished that he'd been more than a physical and verbal punching bag. He'd seen police cases of domestic violence and he'd learned what abuse was called. In the beginning he'd run away from a few that hit too close to home, until his mind palace had grown and he'd stored the bruises away behind concrete walls. 

Speaking of bulldozers destroying things, his head ached painfully, stabs echoing through the bass beat of the bar. He stumbled up out of the bar stool. Vincent's words were screaming in his head and he couldn't think, why couldn't he think? Did he even want to? Maybe he could find a dealer, get something stronger than alcohol to stop the thinking. And then he lost his balance and fell. Right into John Watson. He hadn't dared fall in love again. Or at least he had tried to never fall in love again. 

 

He must've looked a right mess. Pupils wide, and hair wild, face distraught and mind in shambles.    

No. 

He couldn't see him, not like this. 

Not broken. 

_ And it's a long way back from seventeen, the whispers turn into a scream _ . The music played in the background of the noisy bar, barely coherent.

"Sherlock?" John tilted his head to try and analyze the situation. 

"Yes, John?"

"Did you go and get pissed just because there wasn't a case for you?" 

"I've disappointed you."

"What?"

_ I said I'm sorry I'm a bit of a let down  _

"It's not nearly so mundane as the lack of a case. That's not why I left. How boring."

"Well then what is it?" John said sternly, "Had to have your brother track you down with those cameras of his. You've had us all worried."

"Well I'll be fine by morning." _ How do I get him to leave, _ Sherlock thought. He wanted to get lost in alcohol once again. He could forget again. He knew he had been close before John had shown up to question his motivations. "Can I buy you a drink?" That ought to drive him away. 

"FIne? You'll have a wicked headache at the least if your pupils and stagger are anything are go by." Sherlock looked at him incredulously. "What, I'm a doctor, I can tell these things. So what is it then? What's got you so bored to death that you went out a did this." 

And that's when Sherlock lost any last hint of composure he had left. He broke it down, explained the file and exactly what had occurred between Vincent and him. The harsh words, the throttling punches. How suddenly he had to remember it all when all this time he'd been trying to forget. It was his only relationship, and it was a toxic one at that. It was why, so long ago, he'd sworn off romance. Because he hated being afraid. He was above that, except when he couldn't be. He remembered how Vincent had made him want to die. 

He delved into the darkness so far, that when his eyes finally passed him light, he saw his compatriot's look of horror. He couldn't imagine that anyone could be as deeply  affected as he was, but if the sight of John's face was anything to go by he was, by rare occurrence, completely wrong. 

"That's why I did, well, all of this. To forget what he did." 

"Sherlock..." 

"Yes?" 

"You didn't deserve that, you know that right? You didn't deserve to have him hurt you."

"I just...thought at the time that was how love was supposed to work."

"God, Sherlock, that's not what love is."

"Well, I know that now!" Sherlock protested. His head was still wailing, but it turned out John was a welcome distraction to his turmoil. "Trust me, I've got love all figured out thanks to you." 

"The hell do you mean by that?" 

"You've shown me...taught me how to love someone."

John tried his best to show how flattered he felt instead of shocked. "And who does the great Sherlock Holmes love?"

"I thought I made myself obvious that it was you, do try and keep up John."

"Wait let me get this...you...love me?" 

 "Yes!" 

"You're drunk." 

"I know what I'm saying. My mental faculties in place enough to think and speak clearly." 

"Then you..."

"Love you." 

"God, Sherlock..." 

"Is that so wrong? I may not anyone's dream partner, but what we have is...important. And so much better than anything I've ever had. Is it wrong to love that? You?" Sherlock looked so incredibly vulnerable that John's heart broke again. The things that man had done to Sherlock.

John smiled softly, "Nothing wrong with that." He lifted a hand and placed it on Sherlock's shoulder. "You're allowed to love someone."

"I'm afraid."

"It won't be like that with us. I won't treat you like he did."

"Are you saying that we..?"

"Yeah, I'll be with you. If you want to that is." 

"My past has made me quite wary of things like this, but you... I can tell you are a much different man than Vincent ever was. So yes, I want to. Just slowly."

"Of course. Now let's get you home before MI6 is sent after you." John wrapped his arm around Sherlock. 

_ Vincent moved. _

Vincent Smith was in prison and John Watson was holding him protectively. 

_ He was free _ .


End file.
